Read this at your own risk ~ Rev. Wesley Halifax

I kissed Oliver for quite a long time. He was perfectly content to allow me. For an instant I did sense his will attempting to reassert itself, but I stared into his eyes until it was quiet again. Surfeit of kissing, I moved on to other pleasures. I stepped away from him for a moment to enjoy the sight of my prize.

He is not an especially handsome man, but he is always very well-dressed and this adds immensely to his charm. Although he endeavours to behave casually about his wardrobe, I know him well enough by now to understand that he is very aware of how he is attired. He does not as a rule dress flashily, but even so he is something of a fashion plate, Darlington's very own Beau Brummel. I find it unbearably charming, his sartorial vanity, especially as it is so rare in men.

I stood and admired him in his creamy white shirt, still unbuttoned most enticingly halfway down his chest, and his waistcoat, made of a very lovely embroidered doe-skin brown silk. His trousers were form-fitting and equally well-made and he wore dark-brown riding boots. His hair was a bit toussled (my hands were not idle as I kissed him) and this added to the aesthetic pleasure - the counterpoint to the carefully selected and well-cut apparel. And Oliver's hair is one of his best points - lovely chestnut brown, thick and silky. All this, and the look of uninhibited (for once) arousal on his face combined to make him the absolute pinnacle of beauty in my eyes. He was Desire incarnate.

"Betsy, why do you stare at me so?"

"You are pretty as a picture, dear heart."

"I don't know about that, as I am rather disheveled at the moment." he replied and attempted to rebutton his shirt.

"Don't!" I cried, with more vehemence than I had intended, and my sharp utterance caused his hands to fly away from his shirt as if propelled by a great physical force, throwing his arms out, fully extended, as if he was being crucified for modesty. After a moment of surprise he dropped his arms and was in full possession of his limbs, but the event startled us both. I realized that this was the result of my preternaturally augmented will, and vowed to myself to take care to avoid such unpleasant side-effects of the spell.

I returned to him and took his right hand in both of mine. His hands are another of his superlative features. They are not feminine in any way, but are possessed of rare grace and sensitivity. I love to watch his hands when he is petting Chesterton, or holding a cigar or glass of wine. I kissed his right and then his left hand and said: "My darling, I am going to undress you further. This is amenable to you... of course?
"Of course Betsy" he said, with another of his devastating heart-breaking smiles. Oh to have sway over such a paragon of masculine charm. I unbuttoned his waistcoat and removed it, and then slipped his suspenders over his shoulders and down his arms. The suspenders hung from his trousers, which were so well-fitting that they stayed up entirely sans their aid. In a motion I pulled his shirt out from his trouser-top and over his head and stopped to gaze in joy at his bared torso. I fell upon him, kissing his belly and his nipples and chest. I pushed him down onto the sofa and proceeded to kiss his exposed flesh in a state of absolute erotic ecstasy.

(To be continued...)